The Note
by Kierastarlight
Summary: Happy Valentine's Day! Takes place in early season 6. Dean learns something interesting about the carving on his ribs from a shop owner. What exactly did Castiel put there?


**The Note**

_I wrote most of this over a year ago…it takes place in early season 6. Posting it for Valentine's day since it's about a "love note". Original draft was beta'd by __XxKayTayxX__, (Thank you!) and it's changed a bit since then, any mistakes are my own._

Dean walks into a small antique store that is tight on space. He notices dusty lampshades and old kewpie dolls, clunky jewelry and wooden pull toys his great-grandfather might have had. Everything is tightly packed, and Dean wonders two things – one, if someone was to pick something up, would everything else fall like a house of cards? And two, how on earth do you keep all this crap clean all the time? Because surprisingly, the lampshade is the only dusty object Dean can see.

Dean twists his way to the cashier desk, dodging several items that stick out in the isle. He glances around looking for anything resembling a music box. Unfortunately, peering through the shelf on his right he can see several on a back wall. Dean hoped that he could buy whatever the store had, and tear them apart. That was when he was thinking there would be one or two. Not a shelf of fifteen or so.

At the cashier desk, a woman in her forties with huge red hair that would put Elmo on Sesame Street to shame, gives Dean a once over with her eyes. "Not every day someone like you shows up at my store," she says.

Dean gives her a once over too. She likes to wear the same clunky jewelry she sells in her store. A tiger could jump through the hoops on her ears, and a row of fugly big rings engulf her fingers. Her chest is a mountain of tarnishing metal and fake jewels. At least someone wears this crap, Dean thinks.

Dean smiles, and says, "Sorry I didn't get here sooner then, sweetheart," with a wink. "But actually, if you could tell me…."

"Honey, you are _all_ kinds of luscious, but I wasn't talking about your stunning looks. I'm talking about that seal you have on you. It's working so hard my teeth are vibrating."

Dean isn't sure she heard her right at all. "Excuse me?" Dean says with a raised eyebrow. "What…seal?"

"On your ribs. Sorry honey, I should explain. I read Enochian. Whether it's in plain sight or buried under some very nice, manly pecs. I can read it. A gift, I guess. Kinda like being a psychic, except not too many things have Enochian written on them, so it's mostly useless, except on these small occasions. And I have to say, wow, honey, you've got yourself a wing-dinger of a note burned into you!"

_His ribs_. Instantly Dean remembers it was Castiel that put something on his ribs. Dean clears his throat. "What?" he says weakly. He suddenly feels very exposed. "What – what do my ribs say, exactly?" he asks – even though he is afraid of the answer.

The woman clears her throat, glad to be of service. "It says, '_Dean Winchester_'" – Dean balks right there, thinking this woman is for real if she knows my name – "_my human charge, I hereby protect you from being sought out by angels both near and far_. And then there are these symbols that really don't translate into English, they are what keeps the angels from seeing you. An invisibility cloak, like on Star Trek. And then, the note gets interesting. Do you want to hear it?"

"Uh, why do I have the feeling I won't like it?" Dean asks, suddenly anxious to leave.

"Well, it gets pretty mushy, if you want to know the truth. The angel that wrote this on you has a crush on you – more like a…"

"Okay, I definitely don't want to hear it." Dean's voice is curt, sharp. "I need to ask you about those music boxes over there," he says, almost pointing, until he realizes it would knock over an elephant statue right beside him.

It takes the woman a few moments to shift gears, and soon she is engaged in explaining the history of several of the music boxes. Dean is grateful. With her details, Dean can narrow it down to two boxes that could possibly hold the item he is looking for. He is relieved the two boxes are within his budget. He pays for the items and leaves swiftly, before she can bring up his ribs again.

.

**DC/DC/DC/DC/DC/DC/DC/DC/DC/DC**

The angel that likes to sport a trench coat flutters in behind her counter, as soon as she hears the bells attached to the door jingling with Dean's departure.

He turns to face Castiel. "Well, Sugar, did you hear what he said? Sorry, hon."

"I expected as much," Castiel informs her in that incredibly gruff voice. She muses about how Dean had a really gruff voice too. These two together would make some kind of sexy symphony if they were both talking in the same room.

"So, what do his ribs really say?" She asks. "I did what you asked me to, now I'm curious."

"They don't translate to anything in English. Basically, it's code to make him invisible to angels. Nothing more."

"So why did you want to freak him out like that?" She asks, but he's suddenly gone.

"Angels," she says to herself, "why do I bother with them?"

**DC/DC/DC/DC/DC/DC/DC/DC/DC/DC**

Castiel appears in front of Dean as he's heading to his car.

"Cas." Dean says angrily. "What the hell was that – Never mind. I don't want to know." Dean opens the door to his car. "Go – go rescue a kitten out of a tree or something. I have matters I need to attend to."

Castiel disappears as easily as if Dean has flipped a light switch. Dean feels relief that he doesn't have to deal with Cas right then and there. How odd that he showed up right then, when he is the last person Dean wants to see at the moment. He knows that eventually he'll have to deal with Castiel and the gushing fountain of chick-flick feelings Cas must be harboring. Dean wishes he'd never run into that woman, and reminds himself of the cliché, that ignorance is bliss.

**DC/DC/DC/DC/DC/DC/DC/DC/DC/DC**

Dean hooks back up with Sam, they tear apart the bottoms of the music boxes, but find nothing. They make plans to head on to another antique store in another city. They carry on as usual, two brothers, side by side, hunting wherever life takes them. For now, an old music box harboring a very old sheet of instructions charts their path.

Except nothing is as usual. Sam isn't Sam. He's an empty shell, and this creeps Dean out worse than anything they've ever run across and needed to kill. He stays with him, out of, what? Loyalty to what Sam used to be? Hope that the real Sam will slide back into his meat suit? All that Dean really knows is that he doesn't know what he's doing at all. He feels like a train wreck on an infinite loop.

And now he's Crowley's bitch as well. Add that lemon to the iced tea that is his life. Dean wants to wipe that smirk off Crowley's face in more ways than one. Dean fantasizes about the many ways he's going to kill Crowley once Sam is back to being Sam. That's right, Dean thinks, _Crowley's going to come back to life several times, just so I have the pleasure of killing him again. And again._

The days pass as uneventfully in Dean's mind as the non-descript buildings the Impala goes by each day. The music boxes they purchase are dead ends. Crowley's face is within punching distance here and there, but Dean curbs his enthusiasm for that sport until he has Sam's soul. Sam's body jabbers on sometimes as if he were really in there, and Dean wonders each time what the in hell is actually talking to him.

Maybe Sam doesn't appear hollow all the time, but Dean _feels_ hollow all the time now. Dean wishes there were something he could do to make it stop. He wonders if when Sam's soul is back, he will feel whole.

Days go by, and Dean's mind keeps wandering to his ribs. At night when he lay in bed, he touches them in the dark, when Sam's out walking around. One night he even hugs them, as if the love encased in them could hug him back. It almost seems as if they do, because Dean feels his chest flood with warmth, and he pictures the symbols etched into his ribs bursting with rays of orange light. He realizes it is silly but the thought amuses him when he lies in the lonely darkness.

He didn't feel this way immediately. The first night, he was having conversations in his head along the lines of "Really Cas? Do you even come close to grasping the meaning of the word 'awkward'?" Actually, it was more of Dean finding several ways to tell Castiel the same thing over and over again, than an actual conversation.

The second night, Dean felt more forgiving of Castiel, telling himself the angel really didn't know any better. It didn't make Dean feel any less embarrassed, though. He started thinking maybe he shouldn't bring it up the next time he ran into Castiel. Castiel probably had no idea that Dean knew anything about it, anyway. Dean decided the matter was closed in his head and felt a little better about it.

Then the next night, Dean had eased into the idea that Castiel wrote a love-note into his ribs, not so much if he thought about it exactly like that, but more so if he thought of it as an angel's sign of affection and dedication. Something solid, perhaps even eternal, in the midst of his life having been turned upside down. The next thing he knew, he was wondering what exactly _did_ it say? Part of him still had no desire to know, but the part of him that was broken, drained, and looking for some kind of answer or hope in life, found some strange comfort in it. Somebody out there gave a rat's ass about Dean. Yeah, so did Bobby, and the real Sam, but they weren't quite as immortal as Cas was. They also weren't as mysterious or compelling as Castiel was. Sure, Sam was a walking and talking puppet at the moment, but Dean found that detail to be more depressing than fascinating.

Dean actually dreads running into Castiel now, though. Because he wants to know what his ribs say, but without making a scene with asking Castiel and then having to deal with a gushing waterfall of love…

Okay, Dean doesn't want to hear it from him at all. But he decides he'll just quietly find out on his own. Just for curiosity's sake.

He still has the phone number of that antique store written on a slip of paper somewhere – he calls it one day when Sam is in the shower.

"Um, yeah, hi, I'm Dean Winchester, I don't know if you remember me, the guy with the ribs? Yeah. Could you tell me after all, what my ribs say? If you remember."

Brandy, the woman at the store, is thinking _Shoot_. _What am I going to tell this guy?_ Castiel had written out something to say in the event that Dean actually wanted to hear it, but he hadn't, and she threw the paper out. And hell if she'd remember that intricate love poem right now!

"Well, honey, here's the thing. That note on your ribs is really personal, and actually, I don't remember it clearly enough to dictate it back to you right now, sorry. I really think you ought to hear it from the angel that wrote it. Do you know who it is?"

"Yeah, I do," Dean says, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

Well, that settles it, Dean thinks. Hell if I'm gonna call Cas and ask him what the hell is on my ribs.

But it doesn't settle it. Day after day, he's still wondering. Dean can't even remember anyone writing him a love note, not even Cassie, except for short little things like "Love you, see you tonight" on a post-it or something.

Then one day Castiel shows up. Dean's heart beats faster, feeling exposed as all get-out and having to remind himself that Cas doesn't know he knows. Sam's off somewhere, and when the silence gets to be too heavy, Dean decides, _what the hell, I'll ask._ _It's just Cas. I can deal with it._ _Then at least I can stop thinking about it._

"Hey Cas."

"Yes Dean."

"I was just wondering, what exactly does the Enochian on my ribs translate into, in English?"

"Why?"

Dean didn't expect that question. He gulps quietly. "Uh, just curiosity."

Castiel does his head tilt thing and says, "All it basically does is keep you off the map. Angels trying to find you from heaven or other places on Earth can't see you. I don't think there is an English translation, other than what I just explained to you."

"That's it?" Dean says.

"Why?" Castiel asks. "Were you expecting more?"

"No," Dean lies, turning his face towards the window so Castiel can't see his disappointment. How did that woman know his name, and about the Enochian stuff on his ribs if what she was saying wasn't true?

"Dean, I'm sorry, I need to leave for awhile." Castiel leaves before Dean can turn back around.

"Son of a bitch," Dean mutters.

Castiel appears in a deserted alley and calls Sam. "Where are you?" he asks, and shows up in an instant.

"Sam," Castiel says. "Dean is curious about his ribs now. What should I do?"

"Really? What did you tell him?"

"I told him the truth. That the ribs don't really say anything. I am not sure what the next step is. I was not expecting at all that he would be interested."

"Me neither, well, not really anyway. I think this is a good sign. My advice would be, still remember, this is Dean. You've got to let him make the first move, otherwise you'll just scare him away. Don't have any high hopes, either, Castiel. Maybe he wants nothing more to satisfy his curiosity."

"Go see him now, but don't give him any gushy statements of love right now. Just be with him. And don't fess up to anything yet. It's too early. He probably will never know the truth anyway. And – don't be nervous. That's really important. You'll have the upper hand if he's the more nervous one."

Castiel goes back to the motel room. Dean is pacing around the room. Castiel remembers what Sam said and makes sure he shows no signs of nervousness.

"I bought you a beer," Castiel says, pulling it out of his pocket.

"You did? Hey, thanks Cas." Dean takes it and pops it open, taking a swig. "Want some?"

Castiel nods and takes the bottle, takes a small sip. Gives it back to Dean.

"So Cas, let's just forget all about what I was saying earlier, okay?"

"Yes, Dean. Of course."

**Two weeks later…**

Dean keeps wondering what the heck was up with that lady that read Enochian, even through his flesh. He has a moment alone in a motel room again and phones her.

"Hey, um, Brandy," Dean says after she picks up the phone, and announces her name and her store. "Will you tell me who put you up to that little scene with my ribs? Because I'd really like to know. I've got this feeling that someone's been jerking my chain, and I want to know if it's the truth."

"Listen Dean," Brandy says, "Didn't you go talk to the angel?"

"Yeah, and that amounted to nothing. Come on. What gives? Tell me who's screwing with me!"

"Dean, you'd better be nice to him. If I find out you've treated him bad, I don't know what I'll do but I'll do something. Castiel is the nicest angel I've ever met. And he really likes you. Cut the guy a break." 

"He does?" Dean says, surprising himself. "He really does like me?"

"Look, I barely know the guy. But you're the apple of his eye, I swear. Now don't you dare tell him I said anything. He meant no harm. Just wanted to see how you'd react. I don't know the whole story anyway. I gotta go, Dean."

Dean hangs up. Castiel put her up to this? To see how he'd react? Why?

Dean wasn't going to sit around and wonder any longer. He phones Castiel. "Cas, I don't know where you are, or what you are doing, but I need to talk to you."

About ten minutes later, Castiel appears. "I had to finish something."

"Yeah, Cas," Dean says, not at all sure how to go about this conversation. Maybe the quick way was best, like ripping off a Band-Aid. It might sting, but it would be over quicker.

He thinks about what Brandy said, and decides, _screw her, I don't owe her anything_. "What's this about you asking Brandy to say there was a love note on my ribs, Cas?"

Castiel looks at the floor. "She told you?"

"Yeah, she told me," Dean says, his voice rising. He can feel himself getting riled up. "Do you know what that means, Cas? Now I have to deal with knowing you have these gushy feelings for me. Is that true?"

"Is it true that you have to deal with it? I don't know, Dean," Castiel says. "I don't know what you're dealing with."

"No, Cas, I mean, do you have gushy feelings for me?" As soon as it's out of his mouth, Dean can't believe he even asked question.

Even more shocking to him is the realization is he hopes the answer goes in a certain direction. And that direction isn't what he would usually hope for.

If Dean were looking at this moment from a distance, he'd be laughing his ass off. Or thoroughly disgusted. And he's already wishing he could take the question back. _But._

He still wants the answer.

"If you are asking if I love you, Dean, the answer is yes." Castiel says it so plainly, and calmly, with simple innocence and love shining in his eyes, and it calms Dean down, and makes his heart flutter at the same time. He was expecting embarrassment. He was expecting chick-flick moment. Dean can see that Castiel isn't the one making the scene, Dean is.

"Let's sit down, Cas," Dean says, and they sit on the foot of the bed. Right next to each other. Shoulders and arms touching, body heat mingling with body heat.

Dean doesn't look at Cas, just straight ahead. "So what's this business about a love note on my ribs? That was beyond weird to set up, Cas, you have to admit that. That was embarrassing."

"Then I regret it, and there is nothing else to discuss, other than I apologize."

Again, Dean was bracing himself for a confession of undying love, and Castiel just keeps things simple. Dean's not feeling satisfied with this answer. His emotions are conflicted; on one hand he's glad Castiel's being normal, because it makes things less embarrassing. On the other hand, Dean feels if he doesn't find out more, he's going to go out of his mind.

"Are you sure? Is that it?"

"Is what it?"

"Damn, Castiel, why would I be stupid enough to think you'd write me a love note, when trying to get anything out of you in the first place is like pulling teeth?"

Castiel tilts his head. "Do you want me to write you a love note?" Castiel asks.

Dean blinks. His mind does the automatic chic-flick moment reflexive shield, but he smoothes that out and listens to his heart. Which leapt when those words came out of Castiel's mouth, rather than sink. Thinks about how it feels to have Castiel's arm touching his. He spent an entire year with Lisa, and while he cared for her and she was _hot_, not even their most intimate moments amounted to what Dean feels just sitting here with Castiel. Shoulders rubbing, feeling a flush of warmth and happiness fused by the touch of their arms.

Dean's caught between not knowing how to answer and enjoying the quiet happiness blossoming in his chest. His lips fail to move, even after several moments.

Castiel faces Dean and touches the center of his ribs. Dean feels a light tickle and a very intimate stroke over the emotions welling up inside.

Castiel's gaze strokes Dean as well; they are no longer touching, but they may as well be. Castiel's eyes hold Dean tighter than any embrace.

"There is a love note on your ribs now, Dean," Castiel says in his simple way. "On the underside. I ran out of room on the top of your ribs."

"Really?" Dean says, unable to ask what it says.

"Yes, really," Castiel says softly.

Dean can't make himself ask, even though he is curious. He waits a moment to see if Castiel tells him what is now written on his ribs. Castiel doesn't say a word, and their shoulders and arms naturally find their way back to accompanying one another.

Silence is a good thing, Dean thinks. He feels oddly satisfied with the combination of knowing Castiel wanted to put a love note on his ribs, yet not knowing yet what they say. Maybe someday he'll be ready to hear it.

Touching Castiel feels good and Dean wants to go with the flow. Without opening any floodgates prematurely. He leans in towards Castiel more, awkwardly lifts his arms and then pulls him in tight for an embrace.

Castiel sighs and gently puts his head on Dean's shoulder.

**DCDCDCDCDCDCDCDCDCDCDC**

Sam seems almost normal during the next week. Dean wonders if it's just because he feels so much better inside, that the world looks different. Sam laughs at jokes more and almost seems human. Maybe it's because Dean is laughing more, and humor is contagious, even to an empty meatbag.

And one evening Castiel shows up, Sam's out on his walk, and Dean and Castiel easily fall into a silent cuddle on the bed, drinking beers and watching TV. Sam walks in unexpectedly (had only been gone for an hour) and Dean doesn't even realize how socially awkward the moment is until Sam says, "Hey Cas, why didn't you tell me you won Dean over?"

Dean practically jumps up. Looks at Cas and Sam. "What are you guys talking about?"

"Sam was helping me with my plan, the one with your ribs and the shop lady," Castiel says matter of factly.

"What?" Dean looks at Sam, then at Castiel. "He was? But…why would you give a rat's ass about that, Sam? That sounds like something my brother would do, not a soulless zombie."

Sam turns his head and raises an eyebrow. "Hey, that's no way to treat the body of your devoted little brother. I've been keeping him warm for him, haven't I?"

"I'll ask you again, why do you care?" Dean says, a little louder.

Sam laughs in surprise. "Because part of me IS still Sam, Dean, obviously! I still have his brain, all his memories, and believe it or not, a lot of the human personality comes from the chemistry of the brain. Let's just say your little bro was making a cameo appearance somehow, and his ever loving gushy heart wanted to help a dude in love. That's all."

"You're creeping me out, dude. You don't even have a _conscience_. And now my brother's riding shotgun, somewhere inside his own brain?"

"So? That's the way it was yesterday! What difference does it make?" Sam shrugs his shoulders. "Look at it this way, you and Cas seem happy together. Can you just take all this as a good thing and relax?"

Dean looks over at Castiel and squeezes his hand. "Things never stay right around us. But I can agree, this is a good thing. Cas, don't ever change, alright?"

"I won't, Dean," Castiel confirms.

Dean smiles contently at Castiel and then looks up at Sam. "I should have gotten you to agree to the same thing before your change, Sam."

Sam rolls his eyes. "That would have been the answer to my soul getting stolen problem. Too bad I didn't agree before heading to hell." Sam snaps his fingers. "Shucks, too late now."

Dean chuckles and Castiel smiles. Dean leans even closer to Castiel and realizes despite the all the unsettling things going on in his life right now, he's never felt more settled and happy as he does now. And Sam is right, that's a good thing.


End file.
